One of the Eagles hung back. Alain stared at the younger one. She had the palest hair—a coarse white-blonde—he had ever seen, except for the hair of the Eika prince. Her gaze caught his, and, for a moment, they simply looked at each other; she appeared more curious than hostile. And she had astonishingly pale blue eyes.
“Hanna!” said her companion sharply, calling back over her shoulder. The young Eagle wrenched her gaze away from Alain, glanced quickly at the hounds, then followed her companion up the hill after the two nobles.
“Is it true, Your Grace?” asked Tallia.
“Is what true?” Antonia had recovered her outer calm. “Come, child, we must ride back behind the lines. The battle will soon begin.”
“T-those things you said. About Henry.”
“Of course it is true. Why would I say such things if they were not true?”
“Oh,” said Tallia, and that was all.
Meekly, she let Cleric Heribert lead her back to her mother. When they arrived at Sabella’s banner, Willibrod took the mule’s reins away from Alain. Tallia was taken back behind the lines to the safety of the supply train, where the noncombatants awaited the outcome of the battle. One wagon had been brought forward from the train. This was unusual enough but made more so because Alain recognized it as the shrouded cage that concealed the guivre.
“You saw no sign of the Dragons?” Sabella asked.
“None. And I have never heard it said the Dragons hide themselves. Always they ride in the vanguard.”
“Bastard and whore’s child he may be,” said Sabella grudgingly, “but Sanglant is known for being brave. What of the others?”
“I saw none.”
“None of Henry’s children?”
“None.”
Sabella frowned. “That is unfortunate. I was hoping I might catch one or all of them for hostages. It would serve me well to have them in my hands.”
Antonia’s reply was so soft only Alain—and perhaps Heribert—heard it. “It would serve you better if they were dead.”
Sabella’s captain rode up with the message that Rodulf’s people were ready. “You must go back behind the lines, Your Grace,” said Sabella to Antonia. She settled her helmet over her mail coif and tightened the strap. The banner of Arconia flapped beside her, held by one of her men-at-arms: a green guivre with wings unfolded and a red tower gripped in its left talon, set against a gold silk background. “You I cannot afford to lose.”
“What of our guests?” The biscop looked, and smiled, at Constance and Agius.
“Take them with you. They are too valuable to risk here where the battle will be fought.”
Antonia signed, and Constance and Agius were led away under guard. “Come,” she said to her attendants. They began to move back. Alain hesitated. “Come, child,” said Antonia, beckoning to him. “You will attend me as well.”
Sabella noticed his hesitation. “This is one of Lavastine’s men-at-arms, is it not? It is time he returned to the count’s levy.”
“But—”
“Do as I say,” snapped Sabella with the expression of a woman who has no time to argue.
Antonia paused. Her face became a mask of stillness. Then, as the sun comes out from behind clouds, she smiled in her usual benevolent fashion. “As you wish, my lady.” She did not bow, but she gave in. So. Sabella danced to no puppet strings. Antonia might control Lavastine, but she did not control the daughter of Arnulf.
Once Antonia was gone, no one paid the least attention to Alain though several rough men-at-arms pushed him back and told him sharply to find his place, only to apologize when the hounds growled at them. But they made the sign of the Circle at their breasts, as if he was some evil thing.
He retreated to the back of the line. Sabella had in her own company over one hundred well-armed mounted soldiers and perhaps twice as many skirmishers and infantry; all together (according to Heribert’s count) she had six hundred or so soldiers. But Henry’s army was bigger, and Henry commanded more of the heavily armored cavalry that was the backbone of any lord’s army. Of the infantry Lions, there was one century, but by all reports most of the Lions manned the eastern frontier against the raids of the Quman horsemen and other barbarians.
Alain trotted along the back of the line. He heard leather creaking as men shifted, waiting, anticipating the first step. On the hill above, none of Henry’s soldiers moved. Alain could see the red silk banner flapping against blue sky and trailing white clouds, but the heads—some helmeted, some with hard leather caps, some with no covering at all—of Sabella’s soldiers blocked most of his view.
